TO MR. HOBBES. VAST bodies of philosophy I never yet the living soul could see, "Tis only God can know Whether the fair idea thou dost show This I dare boldly tell, 'Tis so like truth, 'twill serve our turn as well. Long did the mighty Stagyrite retain Saw his own country's short-liv'd leopard slain; It perish'd, and it vanish'd there; [ty air! The life and soul, breath'd out, became but empThe fields, which answer'd well the ancients' plough, Spent and out-worn, return no harvest now; And boast of past fertility, Unless new lands we plant. We break-up tombs with sacrilegious hands; To walk in ruins, like vain ghosts, we love, We search among the dead Whilst still the liberal Earth does hold The Baltic, Euxine, and the Caspian, And nothing sees but seas and skies, Thou great Columbus of the golden lands of new philosophies! Thy task was harder much than his; Not only found-out first by thee, Has planted, peopled, built, and civiliz'd it. I little thought before, (Nor, being my own self so poor, That all the wardrobe of rich Eloquer.ce Could have afforded half enough, Of bright, of new, and lasting stuff, To cloathe the mighty limbs of thy gigantic Sense. Thy solid reason, like the shield from Heaven To the Trojan hero given, Too strong to take a mark from any mortal dart, Then, when they 're sure to lose the combat by't. Nor can the snow, which now cold Age does shed Upon thy reverend head, Quench or allay the noble fires within; But all which thou hast been, And all that youth can be thou 'rt yet! So fully still dost thou Enjoy the manhood and the bloom of Wit, Here hoary frosts, and by them breaks out fire! Nature and causes, we shall see To things immortal, Time can do no wrong, "Whate'er these seem, whate'er philosophy And sense or reason tell," said I, "These things have life, election, liberty; 'Tis their own wisdom moulds their state, Their faults and virtues make their fate. They do, they do," said I; but straight, Lo! from my enlighten'd eyes the mists and shadows tell, That hinder spirits from being visible; Me from the womb the midwife Muse did take: She cut my navel, wash'd me, and mine head With her own hands she fashioned; She did a covenant with me make, [spake: And circumcis'd my tender soul, and thus she "Thou of my church shalt be; Hate and renounce," said she, [me. "Wealth, honour, pleasures, all the world, for Thou neither great at court, nor in the war, Nor at th' exchange, shalt be, nor at the wrangling bar: Content thyself with the small barren praise, Their several ways of life let others chuse, With Fate what boots it to contend? And some small light it did dispense, No matter, Cowley! let proud Fortune see, Let all her gifts the portion be Of Folly, Lust, and Flattery, Rebellion and Hypocrisy ; Do thou not grieve, nor blush to be, As all th' inspired tuneful men, [thee. But as her beams reflected pass Through our own Nature or Ill-custom's glass: As 'tis no wonder, so, If with dejected eye In standing pools we seek the sky, Our mother robb'd, and bound, and ravish'd be, There 's none but Brutus could deserve Ill Fate assum'd a body thee t'affright, Goes out when spirits appear in sight. One would have thought 't had heard the morning crow, Or seen her well-appointed star Come marching up the eastern hill afar. But, unseen, attack'd thee there: And all thy great forefathers, were, from Homer Had it presum'd in any shape thee to oppose, down to Ben. Thou would'st have forc'd it back upon thy foes: [sword? Ill men, and wretched accidents, The best cause and best man that ever drew a When we see The false Octavius and wild Antony, God-like Brutus! conquer thce? What can we say, but thine own tragic word— By this fatal proof became Too deep for all thy judgment and thy wit. From thy strict rule some think that thou didst The time's set forth already which shall quell Stiff Reason, when it offers to rebel; Which these great secrets shall unseal, A few years more, so soon hadst thou not dy'd, TO DR. SCARBOROUGH. How long, alas! has our mad nation been Of epidemic war the tragic scene, When Slaughter all the while Albion no more, nor to be nam'd from white! Sure the unpeopled land Would now untill'd, desert, and naked stand, At the same time let loose Diseases' rage Their civil wars in man to wage. But thou by Heaven wert sent This desolation to prevent, A medicine, and a counter-poison, to the age. By wondrous art, and by successful care, The inundations of all liquid pain, And deluge Dropsy, thou dost drain. The subtle Ague, that for sureness' sake The cruel Stone, that restless pain, That's sometimes roll'd away in vain, But still, like Sysiphus's stone, returns again, Thou break'st and meltest by learn'd juices' force, (A greater work, though short the way appear, Than Hannibal's by vinegar !) Oppressed Nature's necessary course It stops in vain; like Moses, thou Strik'st but the rock, and straight the waters freely flow. If thou but succour the besieged heart, Than Aaron's incense, or than Phineas' dart. At thy strong charms it must be gone Though a disease, as well as devil, were called Legion. From creeping moss to soaring cedar thou Dost all the powers and several portions know, Which father-Sun, and mother-Earth below, On their green infants here bestow : Canst all those magic virtues from them draw, That keep Disease and Death in awe; Who, whilst thy wondrous skill in plants they sec, Fear lest the tree of life should be found out by thee. And thy well-travell'd knowledge, too, does give Chiefly of man, whose body is As the great artist in his sphere of glass There are who all their patients' chagrin have, [tality. And all thy noble reparations sink Unbend sometimes thy restless care, T' enjoy at once their health and thee: LIFE AND FAME. OH, Life! thou Nothing's younger brother! So like, that one might take one for the other! What's somebody, or nobody? In all the cobwebs of the schoolmen's trade, Vain weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Yet canst nor wave nor wind sustain, But, broken and o'erwhelm'd, the endless oceans meet again. And with what rare inventions do we strive Some with vast costly tombs would purchase it, And by the proofs of death pretend to live. "Here lies the great" false Marble ! where? Nothing but small and sordid dust lies there.Some build enormous mountain-palaces, The fools and architects to please; A lasting life in well-hewn stone they rear: So he, who on th' Egyptain shore Was slain so many hundred years before, Lives still, (oh ! life most happy and most dear! Oh! life that epicures envy to hear!) Lives in the dropping ruins of his amphitheatre. His father-in-law an higher place does claim He, since that toy his death, [breath. Does fill all mouths, and breathes in all men's 'Tis true, the two immortal syllables remain; But, oh, ye learned men! explain What essence, what existence, this, What substance, whatsubsistence, what hypostasis, In six poor letters is! In those alone does the great Cæsar live, 'Tis all the conquer'd world could give. With a refin'd fantastic vanity, Think we not only have, but give, eternity. Who his to morrow would bestow, Through several orbs which one fair planet bear, Where I behold distinctly, as I pass, The hints of Galileo's glass, I touch at last the spangled sphere: "Tis all so bright and gay, And the joint eyes of night make up a perfect day. Where am I now? Angels, and God is here; Swallows my senses quite, And drowns all what, or how, or where! The tyrannous pleasure could express. Oh, 'tis too much for man! but let it ne'er be less! That second man who leap'd the ditch where all And went not downwards to the sky! (As conquering kings in triumph go) And wondrous was his way, and wondrous was his coach. For all old Homer's life, e'er since he dy'd till 'Twas gaudy all; and rich in every part I now! THE EXTASY. LEAVE mortality, and things below; I have no time in compliments to waste; For I am call'd to go. A whirlwind bears up my dull feet, Th' officious clouds beneath them meet; How small the biggest parts of Earth's proud title show! Where shall I find the noble British land? Lo! I at last a northern speck espy, Which in the sea does lie, And seems a grain o' th' sand! And is it this, alas! which we I pass by th' arched magazines which hold Nor shake with fear or cold: I meet clouds charg'd with thunder, And lightnings, in my way, Like harmless lambent fires, about my temples play. Now into a gentle sea of rolling flame I'm plung'd, and still mount higher there, So great, so pure, so bright a fire, Was that unfortunate desire, My faithful breast did cover, Of essences, of gems; and spirit of gold Drawn forth by chymic angels' art. And flaming manes their necks array'd: But such light solid ones as shine On the transparent rocks o' th' Heaven crystal line. Thus mounted the great prophet to the skies; Or that which so they call, Wonder'd from hence to see one rise. Awhile the sacred footsteps bore; The wheels and horses' hoofs hizz'd as they past them o'er ! He past by th' Moon and planets, and did fright To a better thing do aspire, And mount herself, like him, to eternity in fire. TO THE NEW YEAR. GREAT Janus! (who dost, sure, my mysteries vien hen, when I was of late a wretched mortal lover. With all thine eyes, yet think'st them all too few If thy fore-face do see No better things prepar'd for me, Than did thy face behind; If still her breast must shut against me be, Alas! what need I thus to pray? His well-hors'd troops, the Months, and Days,and Sourness and lees, which to the bottom sink, Until, some one offended with the taste, The vessel breaks, and out the wretched relics run at last. If then, young Year ! thou needst must come, The birth beyond its time can never tarry, Chuse thy attendants well; for 'tis not thee We fear, but 'tis thy company : Let neither Loss of Friends, or Fame, or Liberty, Nor let thy livery be Either black Sin, or gaudy Vanity: Nay, if thou lov st me, gentle Year! Vain fruitless love, I mean; for, gentle Year! There's of this caution little need, Yet, gentle Year! take heed How thou dost make Such a mistake: Such love I mean, alone, As by thy cruel predecessors has been shown; LIFE. Nascentes Morimur, WE'RE ill by these grammarians us'd; We are abus'd by words, grossly abus'd: From the maternal tomb To the grave's fruitful womb, We call here Life; but Life's a name That nothing here can truly claim: This wretched inm, where we scarce stay to bait, We call our dwelling-place; We call one step a race: But angels, in their full enlighten'd state, When we, by a foolish figure, say, "Behold an old man dead !" then they Speak properly, and cry, "Behold a man-child born!" My eyes are open'd, and I see Through the transparent fallacy : Like men of business; and for business walk And mighty voyages we take, And mighty journeys seem to make, O'er sea and land, the little point that has no space: Because we fight, and battles gain; Some captives call, and say," the rest are slain:" And, like Egyptian chroniclers, Who write of twenty thousand years, With maravedies make th' account, That single time might to a sum amount > We grow at last by custom to believe, That really we live : Whilst all these shadows, that for things we take, Are but the empty dreams which in Death's sleep we make. For, though I'ave too much cause to doubt it, But these fantastic errours of our dream I fain would try for once if life can live with out it. Into the future times why do we pry, Like jealous men, why are we longing still That would ev'n happiest men affright; And something stillthey'd spy that would destroy The past and present joy. In whatsoever character The book of Fate is writ, We should grow mad with little learning there: Undecently and foolishly We should stand shivering, and but slowly venture The fatal flood to enter. Since, willing or unwilling, we must do it; They feel least cold and pain who plunge at once into it. Lead us to solid wrong; We pray God our friends' torments to prolong, To be as long a dying as Methusalem. We seek to close and plaister up by art And in that narrow cell THE XXXIVth CHAPTER OF THE To what from God, 1, his loud prophet, tell. |